The peace holds me up,
busy on relieving me of the rejoicing
of days.
With so much merit for joy,
the beauty, the pronounced joy
as I have accumulated in hours of night
flight
over cities which were bodies,
hills which were bodies,
lips, fenced with flocks,
paths that were seen from the sky
as lines and they were bodies.
I was calling them with names of titans,
as if they were heroes to whom I could
drive back to their ship.
I lit them up with my wrong face
I caught them, singing naked
you come out, here inside, come.
I did not have in those brief minutes
the hunger or thirst,
I wasn’t afraid or wounded,
I didn’t even feel the sadness of the cold:
they were there surrounded by an aura of
mud
taking me to the origin of oblivion.
In those hours of melancholic fury
it germinated, however, the current peace.